Her face explodes in detailed memories

[joel]

That stairwell victory of Samothrace—
stop. Beauty like I’m never more to trace.

Her face explodes in detailed memories—
stop. Beauty like I’d never seen before:
I set my face on her, ascended to
her slowly, nike foot so quietly
by nike foot on white-worn marble stairs
not too unlike some pilgrimage to Rome—
idolatry and blasphemy perhaps,
but God what beauty!— something holy wraps –
it must – a matted visage bright as chrome
whose face stares unforgettably, who shares
no likeness otherwise extant, who freely
shuns a bodied countenance, who
so deftly drops her arms, embracing more
with space than armored muscle— stop, oh please.

[Perdida]

just.....beautiful.

p